


On Deals and Debts

by bonafidezombie



Series: The Life and Death of Nessarose Blackwood: The Witch Princess [1]
Category: Harvest Moon, Harvest Moon DS, Harvest Moon DS Cute, Story of Seasons, harvest moon a wonderful life
Genre: Deals, Death, Disease, Magic, Monsters, Other, Spirits, Witchcraft, implied animal death, implied disease
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-10
Updated: 2020-12-10
Packaged: 2021-03-09 22:00:51
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,077
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27983469
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bonafidezombie/pseuds/bonafidezombie
Summary: In the peaceful hills of Forget-Me-Not Valley lives one figure, as enigmatic and old as any other spirit within it's lands. Many know not that she exists, more yet are too frightened of what she may ask in return for her favor.One day, she encounters the first mortal man to ask anything of her from the goodness of her heart and for the love of another.
Relationships: n/a
Series: The Life and Death of Nessarose Blackwood: The Witch Princess [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2049576
Comments: 2
Kudos: 2





	On Deals and Debts

**Author's Note:**

> I probably change between past and present tense without thinking in this
> 
> An exploration of The Witch Princess' morality, a lovely shade of gray.

In a sleepy town in the hills of Forget-Me-Not valley, there was one figure who stood at the heart of the town--as old and enigmatic as the magic coursing through the land --and a crucial piece to the madness, playing out her role quietly in the background, working the strings of the town as only a talented puppeteer might.

Her powers were always on offer, she was always ready to strike a deal: there were rules however. They must not speak of her, must act as though she had never even existed, and all her spells came at a cost. Like any good mistress of magic, she dealt her powers with both hands in exchange for many things: gold, gifts, favors, and things much more dear to a person--much more crucial to be considered a person. Any who do not pay lost much more than mere gold or goods.

It was not often that the witch got visitors these days: many who needed to make use of her skillset had done so years prior.

There had been the old hag--one of the first settlers, second only to herself. She had asked for much--power, wealth, immortality. And all had been readily given. And the witch hadn't even asked for much in return. A steady supply of power, of souls, and the old woman--Romani, perhaps--had paid in full. They weren't good souls, pitifully weak in fact. Not only had she copped out and offered up animal souls, they were cats--but the broad kept a surplus on the property, leaving the villagers that trickled in one by one completely unaware when four or five disappeared. The witch never killed them, not truly, but those that returned from her shed were husks: spirits forcibly projected into the astral realm and claimed by the witch.

Over the century that passed, there were plenty more, but the next to come to mind was the fat merchant: he asked for the means to leave this town and raise himself from the poverty he lived in, to travel, for finery and wealth--in exchange, all the witch asked for was his son. Ah, the merchant's son. Daniel, his name was Daniel--this the Witch was sure of. A lad of perhaps 10 years and a sickly thing, unlikely to live past 13, and the old fool agreed gladly. The witch supposed, perhaps, it was out of pity, but she knew mortals well, she had seen the same greedy glimmer in their eyes time and time again. And so the witch raked the boy in, transforming his body and tearing all but a sliver of his soul from it. Yes, the tiny inkling that remained... the fear and remorse in the merchant's eyes had been delicious enough during the deal, she could only imagine how he had felt with the bear awaking every night and moving about his inn room, it's head just barely twitching in his direction during the day.

Truthfully, Witch Princess was unsurprised he had sold it to the farmer family.

Oh, and who could forget the farmer's family!

The waitress had come to her, heartbroken time and time again, crying for help, but had never been willing to pay the price the witch asked. That is, until the farmer boy moved in and her anxieties got the best of her, her fear he too would leave her side for someone else. It was undeniable that, despite all their time together and their fondness, he seemed awfully interested in the plain jane. Of course, the witch knew nothing would come of their companionship, that the girl was stricken with nothing but doubt, but the waitress agreed to the price she asked for. The witch pulled a few strings, encouraging the farm girl to go through with her arranged marriage.

Years would go by after the waitress and the farmer wed, blondie was so certain her debt was forgotten. She felt so safe. Unfortunately, a good business woman never forgets a debt. The pair would have two children before the witch collected.

While their first born, their daughter Sadie--one of the few names the witch would never forget--was fast asleep, the teddy bear they had bought from the merchant got to its feet and clumsily plodded over, gently shaking the girl awake and gesturing for her to remain quiet, lest they wake her baby brother. This was a secret! Only big kids could know.

Sadie slipped out of bed, taking the bear’s hand and letting the toy lead her outside. She had always known Daa-chan was real, they were bestfriends, she was excited to play whatever game he had in mind. They left the farm together, walking out down the stone path, Sadie in quiet (this was secret, after all) awe of their changed word--wispy and dreamlike, stars surrounding them. She thought perhaps she was going on adventure, that maybe this was the secret Daa had to show her. How could she have ever known she walked between realms?

When Sadie saw the witch, as wispy and translucent as the world around them, she thought her an angel, ethereal and good. As she was whisked away, Daniel in tow, neither child felt pain nor fear.

By the time the waitress awoke, all that remained was a cold, still child in her bed and a wailing toddler in his crib, a lifeless teddy laying flat in the street. The townsfolk swear they saw the merchant come into town that day, but that he hadn't stayed long enough to open shop.

The waitress lived in fear for years, terrified her tiny baby boy would be whisked away too, but her debt was paid. The boy would remain safe by her side.

That had been her last deal, though. A decade or so had passed and none came to her shed, at least not with the intent to enter. Not to prove themselves, not to pass the tiny test rested in front of her door. The willingness to sacrifice something was required of them and few had it in them. It came as a surprise, then, that she awoke with a start, frizzy curls bouncing as she jolted straight up, back rigid and eyes wide as she watched her sealed door with curiosity. Would they get in, she wondered? She cocked her head to the side, listening carefully--aha! There it was.

The line where the door met wall, where it rested in place, glowed and deepened out to the other side: once a flat wall, now an entry swinging open inwards. Unevenly, hastily placed nails stuck out it's front, placed around a dark rune and now shiny with fresh blood. And who else stood in the entrance, lips curled in pain and clutching his bleeding hand, but the now not quite so young farmer. Perhaps the Witch was not what he expected--an old, frightening crone, but not a frecklefaced, curly haired girl who looked not much older than his teen son was now. If not for the energy that seemed to pulse and throb throughout the room, radiating off her in waves so strong that even a mortal felt them now that her boundary was crossed, he might have thought trickery at work.

The way the Witch moved didn't seem natural--curls unmoving, cloak unswaying, steps smooth and as if she glided across ice, and as his eyes flickered apprehensively over the room she appeared by his side, grasping his arm in cold hands and pulling him into the shed. He stumbled in after her, the door slamming shut and resealing behind him as he tore his arm away and looked down, hissing inwardly in pain, at his hand as his flesh sewed itself back together. He half hadn't expected her to still be there when his eyes flickered back up, overflowing with mistrust, but still couldn't help the flicker of panic when he didn't see her. The fear that he not only hadn't accomplished what he came to her for, but that he was now entrapped in this shed left his heart racing and palms sweating as he spun around in place only to find her further into the shed, atop the steps to a large cauldron, and stirring something.

He opened his mouth, sputtering as he fell short of the right words--were there right words? Was this how those that came before him had felt, small and at unease, had they fumbled and struggled to breach the silence? Was this how it was, making a deal with the devil?

Is that what this woman was? The power that came off her, the thick miasmic energy that thrummed around him, didn't feel evil--didn't feel malevolent, but... instead desperate? While he couldn't put a word to it, to the ancient hunger and fear swirling about amidst the theatrics, it was one that resonated with him, and perhaps those that came before.

It was the Witch's voice, monotone and unamused, that broke the silence: cracking here and there as she spoke as if she was unused to using it.

"Gggeeeeet oooonnn with it, mortal--as funny as your sputtering is, we've matters to see to." She didn't snap, didn't raise her voice, but her words rang harshly as she rapped her stirring stick against the edge of the cauldron and turned to face him with a sneer, brow furrowing and nose crinkled. Anxiety stiffening his shoulders, the farmer tensed and flexed his hand, working to keep his voice from shaking. He took a deep breath, then stepped forward, running a hand through his graying hair.

"I..." What had they told him? What were they supposed to say, how did one seek the power of an immortal? At a loss, his gusto fades and his voice grows quieter as he speaks. " I come... come seeking a boon." Startled, his eyes open wide as the Witch laughs.

"A boon? Boy, you've hardly earned any boon from me." Her lips are quirked in a mean smirk, eyes glimmering. She descends the steps to her cauldron and comes to a stop a few feet in front of him, folding her arms. "Why should I do anything you ask of me, little mortal?"

"Because you've done it before. I know you have, I-I know..." There's a pause, anger bubbling up in the pit of his stomach as he struggles to keep from crying at a long ago heartbreak. He can’t, not in front of this witch. "... I know what you did to Sadie."

"Courtesy of your wife, mind you." The farmer recoils in shock, disbelief perhaps, but... deep down, her words ring true, and it's a knife twisted in his back. "A deal made and a debt collected--she did not swagger into my abode, demanding charity. If that is what you wish, turn to your Goddess, for you will n--"

"Shut. Up." Words forced out between clenched teeth, seeming even older than his wrinkled skin and pained joints imply as the revelation and past sorrow stews inside him. A thousand questions whirl, why she traded their daughter away, what her loss had been worth to her, but he swallows them. He will not be distracted. "I don't... I'm not expecting charity--name your price, Witch." He spits the word and the Witch stiffens, jaw clenched.

"I ask for only as much as I give. Twisting fates is fueled by sacrifice, material gain begs payments. Tell me, little mortal, what is it you seek."

The farmer's voice wavered and grew hoarse as he explained his situation, that a man that'd once been his father's closest friend and whom he'd grown to think of as family was sick—was dying, though none admit it. He came to a long pause, a stretching silence unbroken by the Witch's impatience, before his shoulders sagged and his head sank, eyes closed and barely holding back tears.

"Please, I... I can't lose him. Not after..." Memories of his only daughter, still in cold in her bed, of his wife falling apart, of his son growing up with no memory of his big sister, flood him--the fear of going through this pain again gnaws away at him, fills his dreams with ghosts and the repeated, neverending lose of his family--his father's old friend included. "I'll do anything, just... save him." When the Witch speaks again, she is not mean or harsh, but clinical--after all, this is simply business as usual to her.

"I cannot simply give life to a man whose days are numbered--it cannot be created, but--" She holds her hand up to stop the farmer before he can begin. "It can be exchanged. The cost is great, while he would reap the years they have remaining... one must give however many days they have left." She tilts her head, eyes unblinking as if she's seeing straight into him. "All I would need is a name, then we may proceed."

Three more years pass, quiet and uneventful. The farmer's son helps him on the farm and the farmer remains with the Waitress, though things have never been the same since he found out what happened to their daughter. His love remains in full, but he can't look at her the same way. His father's friend seems younger, reinvigorated and energetic. Recently, he'd been to the hospital and the impossible had happened--all the test results said the same thing. All traces of his illness had been washed away, as if they'd never plagued him to begin with. Perhaps his family and friends had been too busy celebrating or too fooled by his efforts to hide his growing weakness, or perhaps it was simply part of the witch's deal, but none had noticed that he grew weaker every day. That his hands shook as he worked or the lightheadedness that left his head spinning, the tremors raking through his chest.

One morning soon after, the farmer awoke to far off whispers outside his door and his family no where in sight. When he rose--his body left behind him, in place on the bed as though he had never stirred from his rest. The world he stepped out into was wispy and filled with stars and from outside, the voices were so much clearer--children playing, giggling far off.

Breathing heavily, the farmer came to a stop, eyes flickering the direction of the moving children, the voices like a siren's song guiding him. Voice weak and disbelieving, he very softly called out.

"Sadie?" Knee's shaking and weak, as if the weight of the hope upon his shoulders was enough to make him sink to the floor, he held his breath and listened carefully as the voices grew further away. Against his better judgement, he stumbled forward, struggling to remain upright as he grew ever weaker by the moment, unable to let go.

Not when his daughter seemed to close by. He couldn't stand it, couldn't stand the thought of losing her when she seemed so close to being found.

The voices drew him through the streets, twisting maze-like streets so unlike the ones he knew in his life, as if the town were so much larger than he knew. The dreamlike world he knew grew foggy with a thick, shade-like myst that filled his lungs with smog and his breath grew raspy and struggling. It clung to him in heavy blankets, smotheringly, and where it touched his exposed skin pricked and stung like millions of tiny needles burrowing into his skin.

He followed the voices as they turned off the paved roads into beaten dirt paths, overgrown with brush and moss made from pitch black that dripped like venom to the ground, followed through the wood though the branches as thorns caught and scratched his old, leathery skin and the very fog tried to choke him out, continued on despite the voice at the back of his head, a familiar unchanging voice telling him to turn back. Despite the shadow that seemed to follow at the edge of his vision, mass of hair bounding as it chased and tried to urge him to turn back.

The Witch's warnings went ignored.

The farmer came to a stop at the end of the trail, apprehension filling him to the brim. The world seemed to come to an abrupt end, his eyes meeting nothing but thick, dark, nothingness just a few feet in front of him. His daughter sounded so close, just beyond the divide.

"It's not real." Came the voice on the wind behind him and he sagged, shoulders hunched and head ducked. "She is not real--do not fall for it's lies." The farmer did not need to look behind him to know she was not there, that the witch hadn't yet reached him, but... despite the witch's wisdom on these matters and the truth that seemed to resound in them, he could not bring himself to give up on the hope he wrestled with and found himself taking a tripping, weak step forward. There was a snap as his foot landed on a twig, the broken bits fading to smoke and billowing into the darkness, and then there was a gasp from beyond the divide, followed by frantic footsteps that stopped right at the edge.

"Daddy!" The farmer didn't move, torn between the voice of reason behind him and the small girl calling out to him. "Daddy, I missed you so much. Come and play with me!"

Parting the thick mist, a small, pale hand pushed through the divide and reached out for him, stopping at the elbow. Looking up, the farmer could not tear his eyes from the sight even as he heard the Witch appear, emerging from the shadows and stepping into place behind him to rest her hand on his shoulder, giving him pause, hand half raised to take the little hand.

And then, the Witch crying out to stop him, he took the small hand and was violently jerked forward, towards the divide. Wrapping her thin arms around the old farmer's waist, she pulled back with unexpected strength and was able to tug him--and the faux-daughter--away from the divide. Tugged forth, the faux-daughter took heavy, stomping steps out of the darkness to reveal thousands of eyes and a deep, swirling void of teeth inset on it's monstrous form. It snapped it's hand from the farmer's and absorbed it back into it's form, staring unblinkingly down at it's dinner.

"Mortal." The witch hissed, voice hushed and warning and her arms still holding him tightly. "We have to go. Now." The creature of the void took a lumbering, slow step forward, leaning towards the pair as it's carved in mouth twisted into a smile. Still, weighed down by the mist and pain and unable to breathe deeply, the farmer remained still--prey frozen in fear, staring up.

And then the thing lunged, and both mortal and undying witch shrieked . The witch's skin shifted and stretched, her form changing as she leapt into a desperate bid to save and protect the only mortal that'd approached her out of selflessness, who'd sought to save and serve interests other than his own. This was not a fate he deserved, she would not let the monsters of the in between have him. Feathers sprouted from her skin, from the neck down in an uneven division, and her bouyant curls turned to slick black locks, the witch turning into a raven from the waist down as she shielded the farmer with large, scarred wings, holding onto him with her thin arms and hands that ended with talon-like nails as they shot up into the sky.

The monster billowed upwards, the shadow building up around and underneath it, lifting it upwards after them. But then it stopped suddenly, smashing against an invisible barrier as it reached the edge of it's dominion. The witch and the farmer left the darkness of the twisted forest for a clear and cold star-filled sky swirling all about them. They remained there for just a moment before the witch arked backwards through the sky, towards what little of this realm resembled their little slice of the real world. As they landed, the witch pushed the farmer away from her with a sneer, shaking out each and every part of her body free of feathers as her form twisted back, cloak returning and fluttering about her ankles as she spun about to face him.

"What were you thinking? I told you it was not real, not to trust it, and still, you--" She falls short, pinching the bridge of her nose, and walks past him, shaking her head as she continues far more softly. "... Look at me, mortal, and listen--that thing... it feeds off of... of the sort of memories attached to your daughter, like... like--" She pauses, sputtering as she struggles to make him understand "Like love. Like love and loss and grief, like… _ hope _ . And you--mortal, it would have devoured you whole."

There's another moment of silence, the witch pulling the edges of her cloak closer about her yet.

"Do not misconstrue me, mortal, I... have fallen for it's tricks before too. It entraps you with those you've lost in it's bid to feed."

"Who was it?" Suddenly, the old farmer finds his voice, though it is weak and strained, and the witch's head snaps back. And perhaps he knows he' overstepped his bounds and the witch's patience, but still he presses. "Who did you hear?" Another beat passes. The witch turns away, pulling her cloak ever tighter around her and seeming to sag.

"... My sisters. But it matters little--" She insists, forcing herself to start walking. She does not look back, but assumes he follows. "For you cannot remain here, there is no time for such questions--or for you to learn more of this world, in the stupidest way possible."

They walk down the familiar, yet changed, street in silence. The farmer wonders if this is what his daughter saw when the witch came for her. He wonders if anything had hunted her, if there are other such things lurking in the distance. They come to rest in front of the inn, not terribly far off from his farm--how quickly this would have been over with, had he listened to the witch's urging to turn around.

There's a shiny, shimmering crack hovering in the air.

"This is it, mortal. You must move on." She reaches forth and takes his wrist, pulling him towards the tear. "... You will see her again. Your daughter, Sadie--this is the same path she walked. Your father before you as well, in fact--though he was never so foolish as to deal with me and had a local as his guide to the next life."

"What about..."

"Yes." She rolls her eyes at the look she's shot. "It matters little who, boy--they will all walk this path. You will reunite with your wife and all the other's. But for now, you must go to those who have departed ahead of you. It is, as you've seen, unsafe here."

"... What about you?" This question gives the witch pause, as she's surprised he'd think to ask. Truth be told, she has walked this land too long. She carries a part of the in between attached to her and she imagines, by the time something manages to kill her, she will one day have more of this land within her than her own soul. Even as she is... she will not be allowed to continue on, instead entrapped her with the locals and the monsters. She does not tell him this.

"Someday, perhaps. For now, I must return home. It is time for you to take your leave, mortal."

As he finally reaches out and, at his touch, the tear opens into a shimmering portal, she steps back, watching carefully. He steps through and it closes, her heart aching... in a way, she would want nothing more than to leave this life behind and reunite with her sisters, but this is not a fate meant for her. Instead, she let's her spirit fade out of this realm, shimmering and dissipating before she suddenly jolts back up in her body, alone in an empty and drafty shed.

Her eyes flicker towards the door, a familiar glow lighting along the edges.

  
  



End file.
